


Somewhere There's Sun

by K9Lasko



Category: NCIS
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, casefile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K9Lasko/pseuds/K9Lasko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony spends the holiday with a quirky yet troubled informant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Genre: Casefile; Drama  
> Characters: Tony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee, Ellie Bishop, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, original character  
> Warnings: swearing, violence, offensive terms, child abuse (mention)  
> Pairing: Gibbs and Tony (incredibly vague, squint-worthy)  
> Spoilers: Up to (and through) Season 11
> 
> Rated T for graphic depictions of violence.
> 
> Author’s Note: Originally written for sunset_leaf on NFA. First published Dec 24, 2013. Title borrowed from a snippet of lyrics from “Little Bird” by The Weepies. It’s a song that beautifully embodies this story.

**PROLOGUE**

“ ** _H_** ey, hey, hey now,” a man pled for his life as he stood with his back up against a brick wall. “I’m not looking for any trouble. I’m just here for the package, like usual.” The man trembled wildly, hands held aloft in a meek gesture of peace. “C’mon… We’ve been doing this for weeks.”  
  
“Just cleaning house, kid,” a nearby shadow spoke. “No need to be afraid.”  
  
“You’re gonna shoot me; I know it!” The cowering man began to hyperventilate as he pressed himself harder against the wall. “Oh god, oh god...”  
  
“Shh, shh, shh,” the voice soothed. “We have a bit of a pest problem, it seems.”  
  
“--Oh god, oh god, oh god--“  
  
“You know what we do with pests?”  
  
“--Please--“  
  
“You don’t _know_?” the voice pressed.  
  
“I ain’t no pest, man!” the man sputtered. “You gotta--“  
  
The shadow moved forward. A long, steel blade flashed in the weak glow of a distant streetlight. “Don’t fight,” the voice comforted.  
  
There was a muffled scream and a brief struggle. Eventually, the noises faded into a soft gurgle, and then there was nothing as the body folded gently to the ground.  
  
“What the--“ A new voice came from a nearby doorway.  
  
 _Pap. Pap. Pap pap._  
  
And then silence.


	2. Chapter One

 

_“They tell me I’m crazy,_

_But you told me_

_I’m golden.”_

\- The Weepies

 

 

 

**Chapter One**

 

 

 

  
“ ** _A_** nother day, another dead body,” Tony sang as he climbed out of the passenger side of the silver Charger. He took a deep breath of the heady Anacostia air and gazed towards the activity happening nearby. There were several Metro squad cars, a couple ambulances, and an unmarked Crown Vic. The scene was already taped off and a few uniformed officers stood in tight clusters, smiling and laughing.  
  
McGee and Ellie followed suit, crawling out from the cramped back seat. Ellie looked as if she’d just ridden the tilt-a-whirl after eating an entire funnel cake and a corn dog.  
  
“You’ll get used to it,” McGee attempted to console Team Gibbs’ newest member.  
  
She grimaced. “Next time, we’ll take separate cars.”  
  
Gibbs slammed the door and brushed past all of them. “DiNozzo, keep Bishop out of trouble. McGee, you’re with me.”  
  
“What?” Tony griped. “Why am I on Ellie duty? I thought that was McGee’s job.”  
  
McGee gave his friend a sincerely apologetic smile as he trotted after their boss. Gibbs, for his part, clearly wasn’t planning on answering Tony’s inane question.  
  
“So…” Ellie looked up at Tony, an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. “What’s the first step here? Look at the dead bodies? I think I’m getting better at that.”  
  
Her earnestness was almost painful. Tony stared at her.   
  
Ellie’s face fell. “What?”  
  
Tony breathed out a long-suffering sigh and moved off towards the action. “C’mon, Ellie-belly.” He flashed his creds for the officer manning the police line, before hiking his thumb at Ellie. “And she’s with me.”  
  
Located between two vacant warehouses, left derelict from disuse, the alley was long and narrow. Potholes pocked the crumbling pavement and weeds grew up tall and scraggly from the cracks. Most of the multi-paned windows were broken, and at least one door had been pried open, probably by a crowbar. The others were padlocked shut, their hinges thick with rust. Broken glass glittered amongst the weedy grit. Beer bottles, snack food wrappers, and other trash items littered the area. An abandoned dumpster was overflowing with illegally dumped items, and a collection of tires was growing at its base. The brick walls had been tagged over and over again.  
  
Next to a broken and twisted rain gutter, a man with honey brown hair lay crumpled against the brick wall. His hands, pale and dead, were twisted and locked on a gory wound in his chest. Blood and vomit was dried to his face from where it had leaked from his lips. The mess congealed thickly in his lap. His eyes were half-lidded, empty and dull, the same honey brown as his hair. He appeared young; his clothing hung loosely from an emaciated body, now white and stiff in death.  
  
Despite the winter chill, the spicy stink of shit and vomit lingered heavy in the air, and Tony guessed that the pervasive undertones of urine weren’t only from the homeless who frequented these abandoned spaces.  
  
With a face kept intentionally blank, Tony looked towards the other body. It was an older male -- dark hair, dark skin -- sprawled out on the pavement like a forgotten child’s doll. One side of his skull was blown apart, bits of bone, brain, and blood spread out on the concrete and the wall beyond. Dark blood formed a macabre halo around his head.  
  
“Oh god,” Ellie breathed. “This one is bad.”  
  
“Yeah,” Tony answered. Simple and sweet. “Bad.”  
  
Beyond the carnage, Tony could see Gibbs speaking with Ducky, newly arrived on the scene, while a gloved McGee was poking around in the overflowing dumpster.  
  
“Two DBs,” a stout woman dressed in a smart-looking pantsuit and sensible shoes announced brusquely from their right.  
  
Tony looked her way and grinned widely.  
  
But she easily deflected his effusive charm, her hawkish features sharp in the early morning light. “This one-- looks like a stab wound to the chest. The other one-- four GSWs. Three to the chest, the fourth to the head, in case you haven’t noticed.”  
  
“We’ve noticed,” Tony replied while he pulled a small notepad and pen from his jacket. He held out a free hand, friendly and open. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo--“  
  
“And I’m Ellie Bishop,” Ellie chimed in brightly.  
  
“Detective Lou Sternes.” The woman ignored Tony’s proffered hand, instead choosing to narrow her eyes at Ellie. “You don’t quite look like you belong.”  
  
“That’s because she doesn’t,” Tony said. “Yet.”  
  
“This isn’t show-and-tell hour, Agent whoever--” Detective Sternes intoned sourly.   
  
“DiNozzo,” Tony supplied again.  
  
But the detective seemed preoccupied as she stared at the young man’s body. His face was locked in a twisted expression of horrified surprise. “That man was a police informant.”  
  
Tony ran a hand over his face. His good mood was rapidly eroding. “Okay. And the other?”  
  
“He was carrying a military ID. Markus Brandt, Naval petty officer,” Detective Sternes answered quickly. “That’s why we called you all up. Officers found a few ounces of smack on him, a lot of cash, a knife. And the usuals, too… wallet, keys, and cell phone. Nothing else.”  
  
“And the kid?” DiNozzo asked, looking down at his notepad as he scribbled.  
  
“Our informant. Donovan Krieger. Not armed, except for a small canister of mace. No drugs. No cell phone. No wallet. No keys.”  
  
“Cash?”  
  
“No cash. But we did find a couple condoms and uh, personal lubricant.”  
  
Ellie watched Tony pause his writing. She opened her mouth to say something, but Tony shook his head.   
  
“Okay,” he went on. “Were you watching him?”  
  
“No,” the detective shook her head ruefully. “He wasn’t running anything for us last night. We were about ready to pull the plug on the whole thing. He was hard to work with, admittedly. I don’t know if he was a compulsive liar, or if he was just feeling a lot of pressure from within the organization. We had to double or triple check everything, and he’d disappear for days on end. No contact. Didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. We had decided to put an end to it.”  
  
“Looks like someone else beat you to it,” Gibbs spoke suddenly from behind them.  
  
Tony jumped out of reflex, while Sternes glared towards Gibbs. They postured at each other like feral cats. Ellie stopped breathing for a whole minute. Tony swore the two were about to lunge at the other’s throats, but after a beat they relaxed and actually smiled at each other. Tony frowned in confusion. “Boss?”  
  
“Hey, Lou,” Gibbs said, ignoring Tony. “How’s Metro treating you?”  
  
“Been okay, Gunny. Except for this nonsense,” Sternes grumbled. “Krieger was our only inside source on this screw-ball we’re after. They call him Snoopy--“   
  
Tony chuckled. Everybody -- even Ellie -- turned to glare at him. Looking away, he forced the chuckle into a cough.  
  
“--That’s an alias, obviously. We believe his actual name is Julian Arrizubeata--“  
  
Tony interrupted again, waving his notepad slightly. “Can you spell that?”  
  
Ellie took the notepad and wrote what she thought would be the closest spelling. She marked it with plenty of curly question marks.  
  
“That’s good, thanks,” Tony snatched it away with a sour expression.  
  
Sternes was impatient. “You done?” she asked.   
  
“They’re done,” Gibbs answered for them. He fixed a threatening glare on Tony, who had begun to grin knowingly.   
  
“This guy is a real sadistic asshole, boys... and girl,” the detective gestured dismissively at Ellie. “He’s been running a heroin network along the I-95 corridor, but word is he’s trying to close up shop. Tying up loose ends, like Krieger here.” She shook her head. “So, when Snoopy is out of the picture -- assuming we don’t remove him from the picture ourselves -- you know what we’ll have?”  
  
“A power vacuum,” Ellie blurted. But afterwards she had the good sense to look contrite.  
  
Sternes nodded slowly. “Basically.”  
  
“Boss!” McGee called out from his dumpster. He was holding out a black pistol in his gloved hands. “We got a gun!”  
  
“Looks like we found what may have killed Petty Officer Brandt.” Gibbs sharpened his gaze at Sternes. “We want in on this case.”  
  
“Don’t worry. You’re already in, Gunny,” the detective smiled wryly. “You’re welcome.”  


  
**\--**--**   


  
  
**_O_** n the drive back to the office, Tony waited with baited breath to pop the question. He wrung his hands together in sheer anticipation. While locked in heavy DC traffic, Tony couldn’t take it anymore. “So, Boss, what’s the deal with Detective Lou Sternes, huh? You two--?”  
  
“DiNozzo,” Gibbs warned, not taking his eyes off of the car ahead of him. He gripped the leather steering wheel hard. “I think you should shut up while you’re ahead.”  
  
Tony didn’t shut up, which both surprised Gibbs and made his blood pressure rise considerably. “With all due respect, Boss--“  
  
Gibbs’ eye twitched. McGee watched from the backseat in mute horror, while Ellie picked at her nails.  
  
“--If we’re going to be working with her, I’d really like to know--“  
  
“She’s an old friend from the corps,” Gibbs interrupted. “And no, she’s not an ex-wife.”  
  
“Ex-girlfriend?” Tony ventured.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Okay.” Tony still didn’t sound satisfied.  
  
“Jesus Christ, DiNozzo. What’s wrong with you? She’s married.” He paused. “To a woman.”  
  
“Ohhh,” Tony replied. “Okay then.”  
  
The car edged along. In the back seat, Ellie shot McGee a questioning look, but McGee only shrugged.

 


	3. Chapter Two

 

 

 

**Chapter Two**

 

 

 

**_M_** cGee worked diligently at his desk, typing and clicking and scrolling. Ellie did her own work, quietly chewing on the end of her pen as she read. Tony said he was going to hit the head, but that was fifteen minutes ago, and Gibbs had vanished to parts unknown.  
  
“Why do we make these slideshows?” Ellie asked suddenly. “I mean, you’ve been working on that for the past thirty minutes, yet we already have the information. We could just read Gibbs in on it from our notes.”  
  
McGee looked up, brows knit tightly together and expression scandalized. “We always make the slideshows for Gibbs.”  
  
“But why? We’re wasting time.”  
  
“It’s just what we’ve always done,” McGee said. He didn’t like Ellie’s questioning of the smooth workflow of Team Gibbs. It was a well-oiled machine, tested by time and proven effective by their closure rate alone.  
  
Ellie noticed McGee’s slightly prickly tone and blushed. Only she could end up pissing off the most easy-going one of the group. “Sorry. I tend to… analyze things.” She laughed nervously, before waving her hand. “You know, hey, analyst over here.”  
  
“It’s okay. Just…” McGee shrugged. He went back to his work.  
  
She changed the subject. “So, um, Gibbs and Tony. They seem close.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess,” he answered, distractedly.  
  
“I mean… really close--“ Ellie was cut off by the sudden reappearance of Gibbs. “Dang, he _does_ really pop up out of nowhere.”  
  
“You two better have something,” he barked.  
  
DiNozzo squeezed past Gibbs to get to his desk. He busily straightened the collar of his dress shirt and tightened his tie before he sat.  
  
“We do, Boss,” McGee stated proudly. He stood up with his handy clicker. “Petty Officer Markus Brandt. 45. Married to a Tricia Brandt, two children, and another on the way. No record, not even a parking ticket or a moving violation. Address is in Annapolis. Drives a maroon Subaru Forester with Maryland plates, which was found a couple blocks away from the scene.”  
  
“Any mentions of a raging smack addiction?” Tony asked from his desk.  
  
“No, but we did find a note from his XO saying that he’d sought counseling,” McGee added.  
  
“For?” Gibbs grunted.  
  
McGee shook his head. “No mention in the note.”  
  
“Well, did you call the XO?” Gibbs asked.  
  
“Yes, we did,” Ellie jumped in. “It was marriage counseling. He wasn’t clear on all of the details, but there were… fidelity issues.”  
  
Tony blurted, “The wife did it.”  
  
Ellie shook her head and went on, “But he also mentioned that Brandt had been spending a lot of time with another member of the unit.” She nudged McGee who then pressed the clicker. An image of a smiling man with honey brown hair popped up. “Riley Krieger.”  
  
“He related to our dead Krieger?” Gibbs asked, although he already had a good idea about that.   
  
“Yep,” Ellie answered. “I mean, yes. They’re brothers. Twins, actually.”  
  
“Tony, go ahead and give him a call--“ Gibbs said.  
  
“We’ve tried,” McGee added. “No answer. We tried an emergency contact, but they said no one’s heard from Riley Krieger in over a day.”  
  
“Great,” Gibbs ran a hand over his face. “Pull up his personnel file, then, won’t you?”  
  
“Working on it!” Ellie volunteered.  
  
“Help her, DiNozzo,” Gibbs gestured before asking, “So what about Donovan Krieger?”  
  
McGee clicked to his picture. “Donovan Krieger. 25. Unmarried. No job. Address in Anacostia. No car registered to him. He has a record. Narcotics possession. Breaking and entering. Uh… Prostitution. His juvenile record is sealed.”  
  
Gibbs’ desk phone began to ring. They all looked at it before Gibbs snatched it up. “Gibbs.” He listened a bit and then hung up, announcing, “Abby’s got prints on that gun we found.”  


 

**\--**--**

 

  
  
“ _ **S**_ o,” Abby started, hands flailing in excitement as she turned to her computers. “That gun? _Covered_ in prints, Tony.”  
  
Tony leaned over the table where the handgun had been disassembled. “Beretta 92F,” he observed.  
  
“And 9mm armor-piercing ammo,” Abby added. “A crime in and of itself.  
  
Tony cringed. “Serial number?”  
  
“Filed off,” Abby shook her head. “But these prints… They’re not in IAFIS.”  
  
“So…”  
  
“But I found them somewhere else.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“It’s so weird, Tony,” Abby began to explain, popping up from her stool and clomping towards her Caf-Pow sitting on the counter. “These days everybody is into retina scanning, and facial recognition, and--“  
  
“Abby,” Tony prompted.  
  
“But I-- I’m going through a fingerprint renaissance.” She took a long draw from the Caf-Pow before sliding back towards her computers, black pigtails flying. “I have a friend who’s creating a searchable database of children’s fingerprints in the DC Metro School System--“  
  
“Isn’t that against some sort of privacy--“  
  
“Whatever, Tony,” Abby broke in. “That’s neither here nor there. Well, you know how the school system runs that Kids and Cops thing, right? And the kids get to be fingerprinted and everything? No? Well, my friend has been digitizing these prints from all the way back to the 1990’s. Every once in a while she asks me to run a print set through it just to test parameters and everything and…” She took a deep breath.  
  
“You got a hit?” Tony asked with brows raised. That was impressively random, even for Abby.  
  
“It’s a loose match, but… It’s something.” She put the two print sets on the computer side-by-side. “Lucky Maloy.”  
  
“Lucky?” Tony made a face.  
  
“He was twelve in 2005, so that would make him about twenty now.”  
  
“There’s no way this is admissible in court, right?” Tony asked.  
  
“No way in hell,” she shook her head.  
  
“But it’s a lead. Thanks, Abs, really. Ingenious work.” He leaned in and smooched her on the cheek.  
  
“Ooh,” Abby hummed, swiveling her chair towards him. “You smell good today.” Her nose twitched. “Wait.” She narrowed her eyes. “You smell like Gibbs.”  
  
“I think you’re imagining things, Abby,” Tony sing-songed as he scooted away towards the elevator. “Thanks again!”  
  
“You’re gonna tell me what’s going on, Tony!” she called after him. “You will!”  


 

 

**\--**--**

 

  
  
_**D**_ ing.  
  
Tony bounded from the elevator, a sudden pep in his step.  
  
“Hey Boss,” he called out when he got closer to the bullpen. “We need you to call your lesbian lover and ask if her UC officer can identify a Lucky Maloy. He might be our shooter and/or stabber.” Tony grinned while McGee and Ellie went very, very quiet.  
  
Gibbs shot Tony a deadly, I’ll-deal-with-you-later glare before nodding. “Okay.”  
  
Noticing the dour mood of the bullpen, Tony moved quietly to his desk. “So--“  
  
“Metro called,” Gibbs interrupted. “They just pulled Riley Krieger out of the Anacostia. He was shot in the chest with a 9mm armor piercing slug.”  
  
“Oh,” Tony sat heavily in his chair and rubbed at his eye sockets. “Shit.”  
  
“’Oh shit’ is right,” Gibbs replied.

 


	4. Chapter Three

 

" _ **L**_ ucky Maloy," Lou Sternes repeated doubtfully, eyeing Gibbs. "Where'd you dig that name out from?"

"My team," he answered. "They're usually right."

"Hm. Well, I checked with Trzecki. He's our deep undercover officer. He says he knows of a Lucky Maloy, but there's also no way he'd kill those people. Guess he's a real pussy cat or something. A bit like Arrizubeata's boy toy."

"Boy toy?" Gibbs squinted.

"Sort of like boyfriend, but-"

"Look, Lou," Gibbs stated impatiently. "I don't care what he is, he might be our guy."

Sternes still looked unimpressed.

"Or he might know who our guy might be. Hell, he just might be your new informant. I know you want Julian Arrizubeata, but I'd rather have whoever's killing Navy personnel."

"Who says they aren't the same person?" Sternes challenged.

"That could be true."

"You still want a joint assignment on this, Gunny?"

"If it means we can solve these murders, yeah," Gibbs answered bluntly.

"Okay. Assuming this Lucky character pans out in the possible informant department, I'd like to work with your agents. DiNozzo as handler, McGee on tech detail."

"And Bishop," Gibbs said. "With McGee."

"What is this like a package deal?" Sternes huffed.

"She needs experience, so she'll be with McGee."

"Fine."

They shook on it.

 

_**\--**--** _

 

 _ **L**_ ucky Maloy had messy black hair and gentle chocolate eyes. They brought him in wide-eyed and terrified. He trembled so hard the chain of the cuffs rattled. The arresting officer sat him in a straight-backed chair at the center of the metal table. Carefully, the cuffs were removed. Lucky rubbed at his sore wrists that had already begun to chafe.

They left him there for what seemed like hours. Lucky shivered in the poorly heated room, and startled when the vent above switched on with an audible humming noise.

Everything made him jump. His own heartbeat would probably be cause to flinch, so when the door suddenly opened, Lucky cringed dramatically and wrapped his arms around his head.

McGee strode to the table and began laying out pictures from the file in his hands. Lucky kept his eyes averted.

"What's your name?" McGee asked, voice gentle and even as he slowly sat down on the opposite end of the table. He had the right demeanor for confronting a person of interest as meek and out-of-sorts as this man. When Lucky didn't answer, McGee tried again. "Hey. C'mon. We just need to clear some things up, okay?"

Lucky looked up at that. "My name's Lucky," he answered. "Lucky Maloy."

"Lucky," McGee repeated, paging through a few things in the file. "That's a unique name; is it real?"

"It's real to me," Lucky replied, more boldly. "And y'all already know my name I thought."

McGee ignored that. "Do you know why you're here?"

Lucky shook his head.

"Do you sell heroin on that street corner often?" McGee pressed, although he was careful to keep his demeanor casual and light.

Lucky remained quiet for a bit, before explaining, "I'm trying to get by." His voice cracked, and his breathing sped up. He licked his lips and put his hands to his head. "Oh no."

"Yeah, Lucky," McGee said somewhat sadly. "'Oh no,' is right." He then tapped two of the photographs. Both were images of the victims from this morning. "Do you recognize these two?"

Lucky swallowed convulsively as he cautiously ventured to look. His foot was tapping audibly against the floor. When his eyes landed on the young man - dead and bloody - in one of the photographs, the color seemed to drain completely from his face. He shook his head and covered his eyes with tightly balled up fists. His foot began to tap faster.

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no,' Lucky?" McGee attempted to clarify.

Lucky shook his head wildly. "I don't know the other guy."

"Okay, so you know one of them," McGee translated. "Which one?"

Lucky began to look even more visibly distressed. His shoulders began to jerk as he wiped wetness away from his reddening eyes.

"Hey, hey, Lucky," McGee prompted. It was a weak attempt to soothe someone rapidly descending towards shocked grief. "Focus, please. These people were murdered last night."

"Murdered…" Lucky moaned.

"Which one do you know?" McGee asked firmly.

"Him." Lucky pointed at Donovan Krieger. "Never seen the other guy."

"Okay, good." McGee bit his lip. "So maybe you'd know why your prints are all over the gun we found on the scene."

Lucky stared at McGee blankly. "What?"

"Yeah." McGee pushed a photograph of the gun that was pulled out of the dumpster towards Lucky.

"No…" Lucky insisted. "No way. I didn't kill anybody. I don't kill people. You gotta believe me," he begged. "Donnie and I- We were close."

McGee pressed, "Do you recognize the gun?"

Lucky swallowed a wad of nervous spit that had accumulated at the back of his throat. "Yeah… Yeah I do. It's Mister Q's gun."

"Mister Q?"

"Uh hum," Lucky nodded.

"And you've touched it recently?"

"He makes me clean it," Lucky went on, rambling breathlessly. "Makes me clean it while he watches. And then I put it back together again. I do that every day."

"Where were you last night?" McGee asked next.

"I was…" Lucky hesitated. "I was with a friend."

"Can he or she vouch for you?"

Lucky shook his head wildly. "No, no. He can't."

"Who's Mister Q?"

"He works for my friend."

"Is he a hitman?"

"Maybe," Lucky admitted quietly. "I don't know." He was wringing his hands in his lap now.

"So who's your friend?"

"He's not really a friend."

"Who is he to you then?"

"Just someone I work for."

"You move drugs for him?" McGee attempted to clarify yet again.

"Sometimes."

"Were you aware that Donovan Krieger was working with Metro narcotics detectives?"

Lucky blinked, surprised. He shook his head slowly. "Really?"

"Have you honestly never seen this other guy? His name's Markus Brandt."

Lucky shrugged before admitting, "I might've sold to him once or twice." He paused. "Or several times. Look, I don't know anything else. People come and go around there. They don't stick around. Stuff happens."

McGee seized that opportunity. "Yeah, I guess stuff does happen, Lucky. That man was a Naval petty officer with a wife, two kids, and another on the way. He was killed by somebody you know. That same somebody who also murdered a police informant, who was also your friend. For all we know, you  _did_  kill those two men. But then there's Donovan's brother." McGee revealed yet another photograph of a waterlogged dead body. "Riley Krieger. He's been found dead, too."

"No!"

"So, next question," McGee changed tracks seamlessly. "The man you're working for, is he known as Snoopy?"

Lucky's mouth went dry and his eyes widened. "Uh," he croaked. "Yes."

"Do you know where he is right now?"

"No. He comes and goes."

"Maybe you need more time to think about how a prison lifestyle would suit you?" McGee asked.

Lucky shook his head and watched McGee's every move as he began packing up the file. "I don't know where he is right now, but if I asked him to come, I think he would," Lucky said.

"You'd like to be our informant?"

"Sure?"

"Okay."

"So, that's it?" Lucky finally asked, voice thin and hesitant. "You know I didn't kill them, though. I didn't- Donny… He was a friend."

"I know," McGee replied quietly. He shut the file and pulled it towards himself. "But you're going to help us put away who did, won't you?"

Lucky stared. Those same gentle eyes became even more liquid. He nodded his head. "Yeah…"

"Good."

 

\--**--

 

" _ **A**_ lrighty, Lucky," Tony smiled, taking a small duffel bag of Lucky's things and chucking it into the corner of the motel room. "Being an informant is easy, until it isn't. But don't be scared, you'll be fine."

"What's your name again?" Lucky asked. He sat on the bed, and bounced up and down. He eyed the gun strapped to Tony's hip.

"Anthony DiNozzo, but like I said, Tony is sufficient."

"Okay."

"I have rules, though, Lucky. No drugs. I don't want to wake up to some 3am drug deal, okay. I have to sleep. No disappearing acts. I'm not chasing you around town." A pillow suddenly hit Tony in the head. "Hey-"

"Is there a rule about that, too?" Lucky challenged.

Tony scowled.

Lucky fell over onto the bed. "I'm hungry. Is there a rule about you paying for dinner?"


	5. Chapter Four

_**D**_ ays slid by with nothing to show for the steady passing of time.

Slowly, Tony gathered info from Lucky, but on some counts, Lucky's recollection was patchy at best. Usually, they ended up without much of anything of value. And this night wasn't much different.

"Let's get dinner," Tony said. "Get your jacket on. You hungry?"

"Yeah," Lucky replied, yawning and stretching

In a rush for food, Tony locked the motel room door and checked it three times before he and Lucky walked towards a cluster of fast food restaurants three blocks away.

"You like fish? Or do you want chicken?" Tony asked in a weak attempt at conversation while they traversed next to the heavy traffic. They both wore heavy jackets to ward off the chilly December wind. Tony found comfort in the heavy weight of his Sig tucked near his side.

Lucky stuck close, his shoulder occasionally bumping into Tony's. "I don't care," he shrugged.

"Okay then."

Inside the Long John Silver's, the air was hot and smelled strongly of grease and fried fish. Tony led them directly towards the registers. "Get what you want," he prompted.

Lucky stared up at the menu while the cashier looked on, bored out of her skull.

"Let's not make a career of it," Tony said. "I'm hungry."

"I'll just have whatever you get," Lucky replied.

Annoyed, Tony shrugged and turned towards the cashier. "I'll have the fried clams-"

"Ugh," Lucky interrupted. "Oh god, no. I hate clams."

Tony blinked. "Okay, so then get what you want."

Again, Lucky stared up at the menu with intense concentration. A line began to form behind them, and Tony shifted in an attempt to restrain a low blood sugar induced rage.

The cashier girl popped her gum and raised her brows.

"Let's just have the fried fish, okay?" Tony finally declared. "And two drinks." He paid and took Lucky by the arm, guiding him out of everybody's way. "Go sit down over there."

After gathering their order, making the drinks (Lucky was banned from making decisions during the remainder of this outing,) and choosing the appropriate condiments, Tony set it at the table. He sat heavily, ignoring Lucky, and began to eat in earnest. When finally the hunger-rage began to dissipate, Tony looked up to find Lucky picking half-heartedly at his dinner. "Not hungry?" he asked. "You were when we got to the motel."

Lucky shrugged and watched Tony shove two ketchup-slathered French fries into his mouth at a time. He made a face.

"What?" Tony spoke with his mouth full.

"I don't like fish," Lucky said.

Tony stopped chewing and swallowed. "Okay," he kept his voice calm. "What  _do_  you like?"

"Chicken's okay."

"We could have gone to the chicken place across the street," Tony ground out. "Or, and maybe this is too logical for you right now, you could have gotten the fried chicken here. I mean, Hell, you were staring at that menu like it was a copy of War and Peace for Christ's sake."

"I'm sorry," Lucky spoke quietly. He picked some more at the fish.

"Stop." Tony reached across the table and shut the cardboard box, pulling it towards himself. "We're leaving, but if you want the damn chicken, we'll get the damn chicken. To go."

"Okay," Lucky agreed.

Both of them again approached the counter and Tony ordered the chicken to go. The cashier watched them in amusement.

Chicken and leftover fish in hand, they hurried back to the motel room.

But when they found that the door had been knocked in and the room was trashed, Lucky dropped the chicken in sudden panic.

"Motherfucker," Tony swore, but it had nothing to do with the pieces of chicken strewn about and steaming on the cold concrete.

And that was how they found themselves haphazardly transported and dropped off unceremoniously at an unassuming house off of a busy street in the heart of Anacostia.

Standing in the living room and staring at the grungy surroundings, Tony raked his hands down his face in sheer frustration.

"I'm hungry," Lucky said.

Tony threw a pack of ramen at his head.

 

\--**--

 

 _ **I**_ nside the old house, as the night rapidly approached its frigid apex, the heat kicked on yet again with a long-suffering groan. Musty air pumped from the vents, but at least it was warm air compared to what waited outside, which was rapidly turning into an uninhabitable icebox.

Tony had spent a solid thirty minutes obsessively turning on various lights, clearing off counters, inspecting the bedroom, bathroom, and closets, looking into the oven, and generally making sure the house wasn't too much of a bio-hazard, while Lucky - one notch past simply nervous and edgy - had paced around on the edge of a breakdown. He almost wore a rut in the matted living room carpet before Tony told him to knock it off and go lie down.

Now, as A Golden Christmas flickered on the TV, Tony sat in the lumpy recliner and tapped at his laptop, while Lucky slept on the couch under a fuzzy afghan. Both of their eyes were bruised from fatigue and their nerves had been long frazzled by the break in, but Tony agreed to stay awake long enough to be sure no one had followed them here. Despite his pledge - and his duty - Tony caught himself nodding off more than once. He rubbed at his eyes vigorously until they burned.

When his thoughts began drifting towards coffee, and the pros and cons of that endeavor, his cell phone began to chirp. His gut flipped, thinking that it might be Tim calling with an early (or - worst case scenario - late) warning.

But it was "Gibbs" that flashed on the display. Tony checked to make sure Lucky was still asleep before picking it up. He spoke softly, "Hey. Long time, no speak. What's up with that?"

"Been busy, DiNozzo," Gibbs grunted by way of greeting.

The humming sound of traffic came thick from Gibbs' end of the conversation. "Where are you?" Tony asked.

"With Lou, checking out your motel room," Gibbs replied before bluntly revealing, "Whoever was here left a note."

"Really," Tony rubbed a hand through his hair. "We didn't stick around long enough to find that, I guess. What's it say?"

Gibbs paused. There was a muffled conversation, and then, "Says, 'you can't hide forever, you little faggot. Pretty soon your luck will run out. I will find you, and I will kill you.' Signed by a 'Mister Q.'"

Anger boiled in Tony's belly as his free hand gripped the arm of the recliner hard. "I'm really starting to not like this 'Mister Q' guy."

"Starting?" Gibbs grunted. "Hell, I'm starting to seriously believe he's our guy. Snoopy's a diversion."

"What does Detective Sternes think of that?"

There was another muffled conversation. "She says Julian Arrizubeata is still target number one."

Tony laughed without humor. "Thank god I didn't leave my creds or wallet lying around there. I just get a weird feeling that this person is watching us more than we're watching him; I don't like it." Tony paused before admitting, "It doesn't make any sense. If Snoopy wants to fall off the radar, he wouldn't start killing people off. It's the complete opposite of what he should be doing. No sense at all. And maybe he's just crazy like that, but…"

The thoughts began to roll out in a fatigue-induced, unorganized stream of consciousness. "But there  _is_ something to this Mister Q person. Have we even figured out who he is? He's probably the enforcer, Arrizubeata's protector,  _something_. I mean, really, if we look at everything, maybe he's the one who'd stand to gain the most by knocking off the competition. And maybe Snoopy isn't completely opposed to it. Ha! At the rate this investigation is limping along, I wouldn't be surprised if ol' Snoopy was already sipping a Mai Tai on the beach. I really-"

Gibbs had apparently reached his limit. "DiNozzo."

"What?"

"You want out of this, you just let me know."

Tony hesitated. He wondered if that was a genuine offer, or if it was merely a test of his will and dedication. He felt sudden resentment raise unbidden. He always thought Gibbs was a fairly straight shooter, but times like these really drove Tony into a froth of self-doubt and loathing. He bit his tongue until the pain distracted his spiraling thoughts.

"DiNozzo?"

Lucky stirred in his sleep, an arm twitching as he breathed hard a couple times into the throw pillow. Seconds passed and then he was dead-asleep again. "I'm here," Tony almost whispered to Gibbs.

Truth was, Tony was beyond stressed out, and he couldn't wait to live again like a normal human being. Every creak and groan of this house, every car horn from outside, or raised voice from next door, or even carolers passing door-to-door were enough to trigger some Pavlovian urge to draw his weapon and shoot something, or someone. The responsibility of Lucky's safety was first and foremost  _his_  duty, and for Tony, not only was this a professional responsibility, it was a moral one.

"Tony," Gibbs attempted to break though the wall Tony had been carefully reconstructing ever since he'd been assigned to this little project. "You just let me know when you're done baby-sitting and ready to start working again."

The words stung more than Gibbs had probably intended. "You kidding, Boss? I am this close to jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge. I  _am_  working. Twenty four seven for the past few days. You think I volunteered for this torture? I didn't. I'm doing what I've been told to do, and you better believe that I'll do a fucking awesome job of it."

"I know, Tony," Gibbs said, although is tone wasn't exactly contrite.

"I haven't slept soundly in days."

Gibbs repeated, "I know."

"How much longer?" Tony asked. He couldn't keep his voice from cracking.

"I don't know. Until Christmas, at least. Lou has something in mind."

"Jesus Christ," Tony moaned. "Based on how annoying this kid is, I'm pretty sure all of the Greater Metro Area would like to see him dead."

"They find out you're his handler, and people would probably also like to see you dead," Gibbs warned, tone grim and serious. "You be careful Tony. I mean it. I don't-" He stopped.

Tony waited. "What."

"You'll be careful."

Tony wasn't sure if that was a request, or a statement, or a demand, or a question. Whatever it was, Tony promised, "I will be." Then he joked, "Although you might be arresting  _me_  for homicide soon."

Gibbs failed to laugh at Tony's wilting attempt at humor. "Where are you staying now?"

"You don't know?"

"No. Not yet."

"Does Tim know?"

"Yeah. He's probably watching the house right now."

Tony smiled inwardly. He'd never admit to McGee that the fact that he was somewhere out there watching made Tony feel oddly safe. "Good. It's a safe house in Anacostia. You know what they preach. Hide in plain sight, amongst beggars and gang-bangers. Pretty sure the house is suffering from a roach infestation, black mold, too, probably. And I swear I heard a rat rattling around in the cupboards."

"Could be worse."

"How?"

"It'll give you something to think about."

"What, my fear of large rodents and cockroaches and mold? Your pearls of wisdom are lame right now, Boss," Tony whined. "The only thing I'll be thinking about is the delicious turkey dinner I'll be missing on Christmas. The kitchen here is a disaster, and I'm pretty sure Lucky can't even cook a chicken nugget."

"You had plans for Christmas?" Gibbs seemed surprised, although the tone strayed more towards curious.

Tony was offended, but still he answered truthfully, "No."

"Okay."

"But there was always the possibility, you know. Now I get to spend several unholy nights with a guy named Lucky who is decidedly very unlucky."

"You'll live."

"I wish you were here," Tony admitted before he even knew he was saying it.

Gibbs went quiet.

Again, Tony couldn't seem to stop himself. "I really do."

"You'll live," Gibbs then repeated.

Tony didn't know why he suddenly felt so cold and bereft. "Okay. Keep my desk chair warm for me."

"Not a chance, DiNozzo."

Click.

Exhausted, and maybe even a tiny bit emotionally distraught, Tony leaned back into the uncomfortable recliner. A spring poked rudely at his aching back. His eyes burned as he glared blearily at the happy family on the television. A jovial golden retriever bouncing amongst them as they decorated a tree.

Great. Yet another Christmas misspent.

The movie switched to a commercial, all of them holiday themed. Tony grit his teeth. He would endure - like always - alone.

"Who was that?" A voice asked from the couch.

Tony startled, turning his stiff neck to see that Lucky was awake but bleary-eyed, watching him closely. Lucky hadn't moved from his prone position on the couch. The attention made Tony uncomfortable. "A friend," he answered with almost rude brusqueness.

"Okay," Lucky yawned and stretched before settling again.

Silence.

Tony relaxed, thinking he'd gone back to sleep.

But then Lucky spoke, "Just so you know, Agent Tony. I  _do_  know how to cook a chicken nugget."


	6. Chapter Five

 

 _ **T**_ he next day in the safe house seemed to stretch on forever.

Tony found more things about the accommodations to complain about. The hot water was hit or miss, and for some reason the heat stopped working long enough for things to get chilly, before randomly turning back on again.

Tim turned up around noon with a fresh pizza. Together, they watched Christmas Vacation, Lucky blurting out comments and questions throughout. Tim - always polite and accommodating - acknowledged Lucky's interjections, while Tony simply told him to 'shut up, already.'

Afterwards, Tony banished Lucky to the bedroom, allowing him internet-less use of his laptop, while he and McGee argued - heatedly, at moments - over the progress of the case. The two of them came to an agreement. This situation wasn't ideal. Too much time was passing without any real progress. Arrizubeata was slipping away while Mister Q remained an unknown entity.

The note in the trashed motel room revealed his true feelings about Lucky Maloy, and it proved that Lucky's days as an effective asset or bargaining chip were numbered. It was probably only a matter of time before someone found out where they were and decided to take action. And judging by what became of Donovan Krieger and the others, things probably wouldn't end nicely.

Tony ended up admitting a lot to McGee.

He worried that he wasn't enough to keep Lucky safe. He worried that Mister Q's hatred alone was enough to ensure that - after everything and despite everything - Lucky would end up dead. He also worried that whatever plan Detective Sternes came up with wouldn't adequately consider Lucky's wellbeing. He worried that Gibbs' friendship with her had left him blinded.

Maybe Gibbs' words last night were meant as a warning. Maybe this entire situation was a rapidly sinking ship. Maybe he should get out while he still could. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

"But what about Lucky?" Tony always came back to. If they were going to throw this kid to the wolves, then Tony was committed to going out into that woods right along with him. He'd left an informant high and dry before - unknowingly, maybe - but he didn't want to travel down that road again.

What bothered him was that no one seemed to give a fuck.

"Hang in there," McGee encouraged. Well, okay, Tim gave a fuck. He seemed to be tying himself into knots over the situation. Truthfully, he too had fallen for Lucky's quirky personality. It was easy to play someone as a pawn if you've never related to him as a living and breathing being.

When everything had been said that could be said, they parted at the door.

No one had to know that they hugged goodbye like old friends.

 

_**\--**--** _

 

 _ **L**_ ater that afternoon, Lucky was stretched out on the couch, head hanging over the end of it so that he could survey the room upside down. "I know what you need," he spoke up suddenly from where he'd managed to be quiet for twenty whole minutes.

Tony didn't answer. He scowled at the game of solitaire he was chipping away at on the laptop.

Lucky paused for effect. But when Tony continued to say nothing, he went on, "You need a good lay. You seem tense."

"I'm  _tense_  because I'm stuck in a one-bedroom house, over the Christmas holiday, with a nutcase," Tony growled.

"I'm sorry about that. I really am."

"You don't look very sorry."

"Maybe I'm a bit selfish," Lucky admitted. "It's nice to have somebody to spend the holiday with."

"Don't you have family or something? Friends? A girlfriend?"

Lucky chuffed. "No. You're forgetting something."

"Okay then. A boyfriend. What about one of those?"

"No. Not technically."

"Huh. So, when did you decide you were gay?" Tony then asked, clicking a little bit more violently.

"When did you decide you were straight?" Lucky countered. "If that's even the case."

Tony nodded. Fair enough. "Maybe I used the wrong word."

Lucky went on, "When did you decide you were going to wear a suit instead of a dress?"

That got a small smile out of Tony. "Pretty sure whoever raised me made that decision. Can't say they didn't make the right one."

"Might have been the right decision for you, but truth is, society made it for you."

"Okay. True. But we can't completely rule out biology."

"Also true. But what if maybe I felt like more of a girl than a boy. Maybe I'm a boy who likes boys. Maybe I'm a boy who feels like a girl who likes boys. Who gets to decide either way?"

"Not really sure," Tony admitted.

"You're born one way and you can't decide shit for yourself. You're raised the way your folks want you to be raised. And maybe you just continue existing like society has told you to exist," Lucky said. "But maybe you wake up one morning and you're forty years old and you think,  _fuck, I've got a massive boner for a dude._  What do you think about that, Agent Tony?"

"I think you're not even close to forty yet."

"But  _you_  are."

Finally, Tony looked away from the screen and stared at Lucky. "Whatever it is you're thinking, you have a massively skewed view."

Lucky tried to shrug while still viewing the room upside down. "Is it upside down or downside up? Rightside up. Rightside down. Wrongside up. Wrongside down," Lucky continued to babble before stating with absolute clarity and an odd kind of wisdom, "The first step is letting go of whatever baggage you've been dragging along behind you, Tony." But then he ended it with, "Ain't nobody got time for that!"

Tony shook his head in disbelief, while he also huffed softly in restrained laughter. "You're really something else, Lucky."

"I know," Lucky grinned. "I'm a self-made man. Making it on my own."

"Well, you haven't done a very good job of it so far," Tony commented. "You've managed to get yourself on the top of a crime-boss's must-kill list. Or at least the crime-boss's assistant's must-kill list."

"Mister Q," Lucky confirmed. He paused. "I've never seen him, you know. Not many have."

"I thought you said you had to clean his gun everyday while he watched?"

"That's true. But even though he watched, that didn't mean I could see him. I could clean that gun blindfolded. Knew every part of it. It got him really hot and bothered," Lucky said.

"Lucky," Tony suddenly broke in. He had stopped playing the game, opting to put the laptop aside. He sat forward and planted his elbows on his knees. "Did he make you-"

"He didn't make me do anything," Lucky added quickly. "I did it because he asked. I didn't like it, no, but… He liked the whole blindfold thing, so when I finished with the gun, he had me move on to other things."

"Other things," Tony repeated, subtly urging Lucky to provide a little bit more detail and hoping for a clue of some sort.

"I sucked him off, okay," came the crude answer. "But he didn't make me," Lucky stressed with brittle insistence. "Sometimes I could see a little through the bottom of the blindfold. He has a piercing. It matches a ring that he wears. It's emerald green, like a class ring or whatever."

"Did it have a year on it? Anything else?" Tony prompted gently.

Lucky shook his head slowly. "I can't remember."

Neither of them broke the uncomfortable silence, until Lucky finally admitted, "I don't want to remember."

"It's okay," Tony tried to assure, although it was awkward and stiff.

"And maybe you're right. I haven't done a very good job of making it. I haven't made good decisions."

"I didn't mean it like that, Lucky."

"I'm sort of a fuck-up," Lucky said as he rolled off of the couch and shook the dizziness out of his head. "But at least I'm earnest about it."

"Whatever he did to you, it's not your fault."

"He didn't do anything to me," Lucky denied. "I did it to myself." He shrugged, and while humming the beginning of Jingle Bells, he drifted off towards the bathroom.

For what felt like hours, Tony sat numbly, staring at Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the television. He listened to Lucky's muffled hiccupped sobbing coming from the thin bathroom door.

Finally, and as if he was acting out of reflex alone, Tony picked up the phone and pressed speed dial number 3.

"Tim? Got some new info here. Mister Q wears a green ring and has a piercing on his… uh, genitals. Let Gibbs know."

"Tony how did you-?"

"Just tell him, Tim."

Click.


	7. Chapter Six

_**T**_ he following morning, Tony stumbled into the living room, sleep still thick inside his head, and stared at what sat on the coffee table. It vaguely resembled a Christmas tree - stick-like and sparse -swaddled in a dishtowel at its base. One red ornament hung from a branch that drooped sadly to one side. Underneath it was a small box, neatly wrapped in newspaper. Kenny G's Christmas-themed album was playing on low in the tape deck and the thick aroma of brewing coffee cut through the unpleasantly pervasive stink of cigarette smoke and mold.

"Lucky!" Tony yelled. He felt his hands clench and unclench.

Lucky popped a messy-haired, antlered head around the kitchen doorway. "Good morning, Agent Tony!" Lucky greeted with great enthusiasm. His excited smile reached his eyes as he rounded the corner with a mug of coffee, a jug of creamer, and a bag of mini-marshmallows. "You're up early!"

"This is the same time I've been getting up for the past week," Tony argued. He stood like a scarecrow, barefoot on the hardwood floor, and dressed in nothing but a t-shirt, boxer shorts, and a holstered pistol strapped around his thigh. He blinked hard and scratched his belly.

"Oh, well who keeps track of time, anyway," Lucky commented distractedly as he set the mug and the accompanying items on the coffee table. "Please, sit down and enjoy."

"Where did that come from?" Tony asked, pointing at the offending tree on the table.

"I bought it at Walgreens," Lucky answered, eyes gazing proudly at it. "I spent all morning setting it up. Do you like my antlers? They have little bells." He shook his head, making them jingle. It was a happy little sound, but it appeared like Tony was anything but right now.

"You  _what_?" Tony squawked.

"I spent all-"

"No!" Tony was pissed. He ran his hands over his unwashed face, morning stubble grating against his palms. "You left the house, didn't you?"

"Well… yeah?" Lucky answered innocently. "I was quick, I promise! Just popped in and out of the store. Pretty sure no one saw me. It was dead out there. Snowed a little. It's beautiful."

"And you could have been dead, too." Tony gave the tree a dour look. "God, you're an idiot. How am I supposed to keep you alive and useful if-"

"Sorry," Lucky interjected in a tone that conveyed little to no remorse at all. "But Christmas is in two days, Tony, and this place wasn't looking festive at all! Now we have a Charlie Brown tree. It's awesome. And holiday music! And these cool antlers! And I bought you a present. It's a surprise!"

Tony couldn't believe this guy. He really couldn't. He stepped forward suddenly and gripped Lucky hard by the biceps, shaking him sharply. "Do not  _ever_  leave this house without my express permission again. Do you understand me?"

Lucky appeared somewhat dazed.

"Do you  _understand_?" Tony's voice cracked, desperate to get through to him.

Finally, Lucky nodded, bobbing his head up and down. The antlers jingled. "Okay. Okay, I understand."

Tony stared at Lucky for a bit longer before releasing him. "Good."

Lucky wrapped his arms around himself. "I made you coffee," he mentioned quietly. "And you can put marshmallows in it, too."

"No one puts marshmallows in their coffee," Tony snapped, before going on to say something he'd regret, "What is  _wrong_  with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me!" Lucky hollered, his mood swinging drastically. He shoved past Tony and grabbed the bag of marshmallows, almost upsetting both the full mug and the tree. A few little white marshmallows tumbled out of the bag and onto the floor. Lucky stalked into the kitchen and shoved the whole thing into the waste bin with enough force to knock to lid off.

"C'mon, buddy, I didn't-" Tony attempted to soothe Lucky's sudden rage.

But Lucky breezed past him once more and locked himself in the bathroom.

Tony sighed and shook his head as he ran his fingers through his messy hair. He stared at the room around him. Blinds shut, fireplace unlit, blankets neatly folded on one end of the couch, a lumpy pillow perched nearby, the happy little tree. He thought he heard sobbing coming from the closed door down the hall, but he ignored it. He'd let Lucky's sudden storm of emotion blow itself out, and maybe next time Tony would know when to shut up.

His phone chirped on the kitchen table. He snatched it quickly and shoved it against his ear. "What?"

"You better be awake, Tony," Tim's voice drifted from the phone.

Tony's reply was sour. "Very awake."

"I saw Lucky leave the house at about 3am. He went the five blocks to Walgreens, spent ten minutes there, and then walked the five blocks back," Tim went on. "I was wondering where you were."

"I was sleeping," Tony admitted. "I was in the bedroom. I didn't hear a thing."

"That's not gonna work," Tim stated the obvious.

"I know."

"Sternes knows. She's pissed." Tim's voice was quiet. "She needs Lucky to stay alive, at least until we set up the meet-up."

Tony stayed quiet for a while, before going on to ask, "So that's what she's planning? Is this new?"

"Yeah, as of late last night. She wants Lucky to draw this Snoopy character out into the open. I don't know the angle they're working; I'm just doing surveillance right now. Completely out of the loop."

"No way." Tony shook his head fervently even though he knew Tim couldn't see it. "He'll kill Lucky on the spot."

"Sternes says he won't… Not if he says the right things. Lucky is family to these people. She says we can work with that."

"Bullshit, McGee," Tony hissed. "Maybe you should check out what happened to the last informant on this case. He was supposedly 'family,' too."

"I know, Tony. Believe me, I know. I was there."

"So what's Gibbs got to say?" Tony asked.

"He's mum on it all."

Tony didn't know what to say to that. He sat on the couch and counted the marshmallows spread out on the floor. "You tell him about the ring thing?"

"Of course."

"Good."

"Are you okay?" Tim finally asked quietly.

"I'm fine," Tony assured, voice sharp and agitated.

"You don't sound fine."

"I will be."

"Okay."

"There's a Christmas tree in here now," Tony mentioned.

"Really."

"That's what Lucky got from Walgreens. Idiot."

There was a bit of silence between the both of them.

"I should probably hang up," Tim said. "Just wanted to give you a heads up that Sternes knows about Lucky's little shopping trip."

But Tony had more to say. "I don't know if we can trust Lucky to say the right things. I know I wouldn't. It's not right. He's a bit… off."

"I don't understand."

"I mean, I don't think he's playing with a full deck," Tony tried to rephrase.

Pause.

Tony tried yet again. "He's missing some of his marbles."

A longer pause.

"He's a huge bit cuckoo. Work with me, Tim!"

"Oh! Sorry. I got you," Tim managed to sound abashed. "I was just looking at the IM's on this computer."

"You have a computer in your car?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Okay, this conversation is over."

Tim snorted. "Whatever. Bye."

Tony watched the call disconnect on his phone's screen and then looked again at the lifeless room. Okay, so maybe this squalid little safe house did need a bit of sprucing up. He glanced at the bathroom. The door was still closed, but at least the sobbing had died down. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to Lucky's wild mood swings.

Yanking himself off the couch, Tony picked up the marshmallows and set them on the coffee table. He took a sip of the already lukewarm coffee before busying himself with the fireplace. He wasn't much of a fire starter, but he tried his best, setting up the split wood just so and shoving wadded up newspapers into any available gaps. He lit a kitchen match, and set the newspaper ablaze. Oddly satisfied, Tony sat back on his heels and watched as the fire began crackling to life. A comforting heat wrapped around his body.

He opened the blinds a bit. Lucky was right. It had snowed a small amount overnight, maybe an inch or two. It stuck to the weeds, the street signs, the cracking concrete, and the neighboring rooftops. He smiled briefly at an old man stringing garland over his dilapidated chain-link fence.

After changing quickly into jeans and a hoodie, Tony searched high and low through the mostly barren house until he found a sewing kit that contained thread and needles. He dug around in the kitchen cabinets and microwaved a bag of popcorn. Then he rescued the mini marshmallows from the trash and grabbed a box of Fruit Loops from the cupboard. Gathering up his supplies, he moved all of it to the coffee table.

It was time to get to work.

With a steady hand, Tony threaded a needle, surprising himself with the fact that he could even do such a thing. He sorted out a pile of green and red Fruit Loops. And then, with a kind of quiet patience born mostly from boredom, he began stringing the assorted food into a garland for the little tree.

"What are you making?" a soft voice whispered from nearby.

Tony looked up, surprised to find Lucky standing in front of him. The man was anxiously playing with the hem of his shirt. Tony smiled and patted the space next to him on the couch, scooting over a bit. "It's for the tree."

Lucky sat and watched. "Are we going to eat it?" he asked.

Tony shook his head. The other man was sitting so close that his knee was almost touching Tony's. But he bit his tongue. If Lucky wanted to sit that close, then whatever. Tony really didn't want to get into the whole issue of what was appropriate personal space. "No, we're not gonna eat it."

Lucky rubbed at his eyes, red and puffy from crying. "I overreacted," he said.

Tony shrugged. "It's okay. Just… don't go out alone again."

"I won't."

"Good." Tony went back to his work. He made sure to evenly space the different items. Four Fruit Loops, alternating from green and red, and then a marshmallow, more Fruit Loops, a piece of popcorn… He found he was enjoying this creative exploit more and more. It was oddly calming. The tight bundle of nerves in the pit of his gut slowly began to unfurl.

"Can I try?" Lucky was asking.

Tony pushed a pile of things to string towards Lucky's end of the table. He picked up a new needle and another piece of string. "You ever do this before?"

"No." Lucky watched Tony's hands.

"This was something my mom and I did. Every year."

"Are you close with her?"

Tony handed Lucky the string and needle before answering simply, "We were."

"What happened?"

Tony avoided the two brown eyes that were currently locked onto him. "Uh," he shrugged, picking out some more green and red Fruit Loops. "She passed away."

"You don't like talking about it," Lucky said as he dug around for two marshmallows. He ate one and strung the other.

"You're right. I don't."

"Do you think about her often?"

"Sure."

"Do you cry because she's gone?"

Tony stared at him, taken off guard by the strange question. "It's been a long time, Lucky. I'm too old to cry because she's gone."

"No one's too old to cry," Lucky stated with certainty. "I heard of a guy who never cried. He died."

"Sounds like a good story, Lucky," Tony huffed out a half-laugh.

"You don't believe me? I've seen it. So what was she like, your mom?"

Tony felt a bit agitated by this prying, all-too-personal interrogation, but he pushed it away. Lucky was only curious, and this quiet line of questions was certainly better than his usually meaningless jabber, or his explosive meltdowns. "She was great, but what about you? Don't you have a mom out there somewhere?"

"My mom hated Christmas," Lucky was quick to answer, head shaking, "but she would always buy us presents. She had a hiding place for them in the house, and I would always find it and open all of them days before Christmas. I had to know what they all were."

"Sounds fun…"

"Yeah. She would get mad, though. And then one year, she caught me in the act, and she hit me in the face with an iron."

Tony blinked and stared at him.

"Oh, don't worry. It wasn't on or hot or anything."

"Did she hit you often?"

Lucky shrugged. "She was a busy person. Didn't have much time for us kids, or much money. She drank a lot. Smoked a lot. Shot up a lot."

"Did she make a habit out of hitting you?" Tony asked again.

"It wasn't all that bad."

"You know that's not normal, Lucky."

Lucky shrugged it off yet again. "It was normal for us. She was frustrated with me, especially. My sisters and brother were easy, but I had-" he gestured around himself, "all of these issues. I was terrible in school, failed classes, got into fights. I repeated the fourth grade. Twice. She took me to the doctor, got me on some meds. They made me sick and miserable. When she caught me doing… you know… with my best friend… who was a guy. Yeah, well, she'd hit her limit. She didn't know what to do with me anymore."

"Ah," Tony raised a brow and slowly nodded. "Gotcha."

"I left home at sixteen," Lucky went on. "Laid low until eighteen. Freedom, Agent Tony. It was great. I wasn't kicked out. I chose to leave on my own. I met friends who weren't so lucky; they were just plain unlucky."

"But was it really a choice?" Tony asked.

"I took my stuff, and I left. She didn't have to ask me."

"And is that about the time you met Julian Arrizubeata?"

"I'd say so. It's hard to be homeless, you know. Riding the trains and sleeping under bridges is fun and exciting and all at first. But then winter comes. Julian promised me a lot; he gave me a lot. But now I know what a bad decision that may have been." Lucky fixed a hard look on Tony. "He's a dangerous man. I know that. And I'm enemy number one right now. I know everything about what he's done and who's involved."

"They want you to meet with him again," Tony said.

Lucky studied a nearby pile of Fruit Loops. "Do I have a choice?"

"You do. But they also know you ran drugs for him for years," Tony explained truthfully. "That's a few years in prison."

"There's that."

"I don't like it, either," Tony admitted.

Lucky looked at him briefly, before declaring, "I'm not afraid of Julian or his thugs. Or Mister Q."

"You probably should be," Tony warned.

"You've done this before, right? This informant thing?"

"More than once."

"Then everything should be okay, right?"

"It'll be okay."

 


	8. Chapter Seven

 

 _ **O**_ n Christmas Eve, night fell heavy over the city like a thick, black blanket. The streets were deserted as a light snow shower passed overhead. In the empty parking lot of the Food Lion, a few blocks from the Greek Orthodox cathedral that was to be the stage for the proposed take-down, Tony worked with McGee and two of Detective Lou Sternes' officers, prepping Lucky for the meet-up.

Lucky kept his mouth shut, teeth worrying his lower lip, as Tony gripped him by the elbows and went over the plan and the assorted contingency plans.

Under no circumstances was Lucky to get into a vehicle with Arrizubeata. Under no circumstances was Lucky to get into any sort of physical altercation with him. Under no circumstances was Lucky to attempt to flee the scene afterwards. Under no circumstances was Lucky to interfere with the police apprehension. And on and on.

Tony would be on the com-link, listening to any and all op-related police communications, while also performing surveillance on foot. McGee, with Ellie as his partner, would be monitoring from a parked car, and he'd also be responsible for any 10-4 checks on Tony and the others.

"You're just there to say hello to him, Lucky," Tony stressed, voice firm. "Do not provoke him. If he questions where you've been, just tell him things were hot with the cops, and you had to lay low for a bit. Okay?"

"Okay," Lucky replied.

"You'll be wearing a one way mike. We can hear you, but you can't hear us. I'll be right outside, watching and listening."

McGee tested the wireless mike disguised as a small stud earring. He smiled apologetically before fixing it in place. "It works."

"You ready?" Tony asked.

Lucky nodded. He chased away the apprehension and forced a gritty look of fortitude onto his face. "I'm ready."

 

_**\--**--** _

 

 _ **J**_ ulian smiled broadly and wrapped an arm around Lucky tightly as they met at the doorway of the cathedral. He seemed to pop up out of nowhere, as stealthy and secretive as a jungle cat. "I've missed you," he spoke warmly into Lucky's ear. "Thank you for coming."

A sharp end of a knife poked lightly against Lucky's side; he froze, even as Julian continued to propel him forward. They stepped together deeper into the beautiful cathedral. Warmth surrounded them like a comforting embrace. The choir practiced at one distant end of the cavernous space. Only a few lone forms sat in the pews, praying or listening or sleeping or weeping or a little bit of everything. No one looked towards them as Julian corralled Lucky into an empty pew so they could listen to a choral piece or two.

"Amazing, isn't it? I come here every year. I love to sit here and let their voices wash over me." Julian sat back. The pew creaked. "We mustn't forget the things of beauty in our ugly lives."

The knife bit harder through Lucky's thick clothing.

"I am a god-fearing man, Lucky," he said. "Aren't you?"

Lucky did not reply.

Julian shook his head and closed his eyes. "You've been a bad boy. You've been stepping out on me."

Lucky shivered despite the cathedral's warmth. He still failed to conjure a single word. He wondered when the police planned to show up; Tony hadn't gone over that with him. He had only assured that it would happen, at some point.

"Don't be afraid, little one," Julian assured him in a dangerously gentle voice.

"Tell me you didn't kill those people," Lucky finally asked, tone faltering.

Julian's face fell. "You disappoint me, Lucky. You were like family to us. But we know you're working with the cops. You came here with them today. I know they're listening to my every word, and yours, too. Mister Q has offered to kill you, but I know how he does his work, and I wanted something a little more humane for you."

"You did kill those people, didn't you," Lucky whispered. "Donnie…"

"Are you sure? Or are you only repeating what you have been told?" Julian pressed. "You know me. I fed you, clothed you, and gave you shelter when no one else could. I accepted you when no one else would. I accepted everything about you, your quirks and your vices. I promised you a future. What do you think of me now? Am I only a monster to you, Luck Luck?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," Lucky answered honestly.

"Do you trust them more than you trust me, Lucky? Do you trust everything they've told you?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

A dark look passed over Julian's face. "There's a difference between killing someone and merely wanting somebody dead."

"Then it was Mister Q. Or both of you. I need to know why."

"Why? So you can tell your new cop friends? They'll lock you up in prison the first chance they get, you fool. Good luck with that."

"They won't," Lucky denied with surprising vehemence.

Julian chuckled in a way that sounded more like a snarl. "They sent you to me, little one, probably knowing full well that I would sooner kill you than have to look at you."

"You haven't killed me yet," Lucky's voice cracked.

"Yet, little one. I have not killed you yet. To them, you're nothing but a piece of bait dangled in front of the tiger."

Lucky stared at him, sudden boldness replacing the withering anxiety. He had endured life under this man's thumb for much too long. "You won't get away with what you've done. You can't walk away from this old, rotten life and expect something new. You can change your address, but nowhere will you ever be good and whole. Things don't work like that."

Julian gazed at Lucky appraisingly, black eyes peering straight into him. They had been cold and unemotional, but now they softened and filled with rueful affection. "I forget. Always so full of honor. Wherever you got that from, I had no use for it."

" _I_  have use for it."

"I know you do, baby," Julian whispered. He raised a hand and cupped Lucky's face gently. The chill of Julian's thick gold rings stung Lucky's warm skin. His thumb rubbed over his cheek in a familiar and soothing gesture. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have let you get so close. But I owe you nothing more. Soon, this will all blow over, like a threatening storm. You'll be free from this place, from this hard and difficult life, and I'll be long gone. I do have something waiting for me. Somewhere where there's sun, Lucky. Plenty of sun."

Lucky shook his head, nearly in tears. "You killed those people. Why did you do that? Tell me why. I need to know why."

"No, baby. Quit asking," Julian shook his head, thumb wiping through the tears now tracking down Lucky's cheek.

He tried to quell his muted sobs. Lucky wasn't entirely immune to the pathetic irony of his situation, and what he begged for next was a weakly impulsive request for something that was once familiar. "Take me with you, then. Please. Take me with."

"No," Julian denied again. He then moved to get up from the pew, pulling Lucky with firm gentleness behind him. "I'm sorry. It's time to go."

They shuffled back out into the cold, away from the choir's uplifting voices. The snow was still falling, and everything was beautiful and quiet. Fluffy white draped everything. Traffic was light.

"You were their bait, Lucky," Julian was saying, steering them around a corner, lessening the likelihood of potential witnesses. "And yet still I came for you. I know what I have to do."

On this side of the cathedral, the lawn sloped gradually towards the street. There were a few vehicles parallel parked under the leafless oak trees; snow gathered on all of them, except for a gray Dodge Charger, which had been recently parked. Halfway across the lawn, the church had set up a life-size ceramic scene of the nativity.

Lucky stopped suddenly to stare at it, thinking he had seen the cow move.

 


	9. Chapter Eight

 

 _ **O**_ n the police com-link, communications were kept brief as to not interfere with the continuous transmission that came from Lucky's hidden mike. Detective Sternes and company had circled their squad cars and set up their mission control in the vacant Food Lion parking lot less than a mile away, while McGee (and Ellie) did surveillance from an unmarked agency vehicle parallel parked near the side entrance to the cathedral. DiNozzo also worked surveillance, but on foot. Dressed in a police vest, heavy jacket, and thigh holster, he had been maintaining his position amongst the ceramic figures of the nativity scene.

Every minute Lucky spent out of direct eyesight with this Snoopy character made Tony's blood pressure bump up a few notches.

The plan was simple. Have Lucky do the meet-and-greet at the church. Maybe make nice for a bit. Who knows, maybe Snoopy would blab. And then Metro would come around for a quick, and hopefully uneventful, arrest.

Using Lucky as the cheese in their cat and mouse game had been an unsavory idea, but the cost of letting a man like Julian Arrizubeata vanish into crime-boss retirement was even more unsavory.

Julian and Lucky's conversation was coming quickly and clearly now over the mike.

_"Mister Q has offered to kill you, but I know how he does his work, and I wanted something a little more humane for you."_

Julian's voice.

Somebody asked urgently over the com-link, "How the hell does he know Maloy's working with us?"

Somebody else answered, "We've been working on it. Nothing. Gotta be a leak somewhere."

"10-4 check on DiNozzo," McGee's voice came up briefly during a lull on the com-link.

"This is DiNozzo," Tony replied immediately.

"DiNozzo 10-4 at 23:13 hours," McGee said before the conversation started up again.

They could all clearly hear Lucky sobbing quietly.

"Can you believe this guy?" Somebody commented.

"He's a trip," yet another somebody answered.

Tony felt like all of his limbs were well on their way to irreversible numbness, but when the two men finally came within view, his gut clenched painfully.

"I've got a visual," he spoke over the com-link. "On the south lawn. We need to engage."

Detective Sternes voice then came up loud and clear. "Do not engage, DiNozzo. Let our units take their positions. Do not engage."

"Snoopy has a knife!" McGee suddenly shouted so loud it made Tony's ear ache. But despite the dark humor of that statement, Tony's gut went from painful clenches to a full-blown flip-flop and twist.

"Do not engage," Sternes repeated yet again.

 

_**\--**--** _

 

 _ **T**_ hings exploded. What was once mostly well-in-hand now flew wildly out-of-hand.

Without preamble or warning or any indication at all, Julian took a hold of Lucky and slammed him into the building's wall with surprising strength. His head cracked loudly against the solid bricks, and the air from his lungs was forcibly ejected. Dazed, Lucky barely felt the knife bury hilt-deep into his gut. He stared up at Julian without a word, brown eyes as wide as dinner plates. His mouth gaped like a fish out of water as he struggled to regain his breath. The pain hadn't even hit him, but when it finally did, he began to squirm.

"Shh, shh, don't fight it. It'll only hurt for bit," Julian hushed tenderly as he gripped the knife again, aiming to ram it upward to swiftly and humanely end Lucky's half-stunned fight. Or at least that was humane in Julian Arrizubeata's twisted mind.

"Hey! Federal agent!" a breathless shout suddenly came from the nativity scene located on the snowy lawn. "Drop the knife!"

Pausing briefly at first, Julian finally raised his hands to the sky and stepped slowly away from Lucky's crumbling form.

Tony stood up from where he'd been crouching behind the large ceramic figure of a cow in repose. "Put your hands on your head! Turn around, slowly!"

Julian hesitated.

"Do it!" Tony shouted, voice ferocious in the pressing darkness of the night and the swirling snow. The faint voices of the choir drifted out of the cathedral and over the lawn, haunting and smooth. "Do it! Now!"

Julian complied, although while he did, he gazed briefly towards the road and beyond the gray Dodge Charger. Towards something unseen. He nodded once.

_Pat, pat._

Two shots.

Something bit Tony on his arm as he ducked out of instinct. "Fuck!"

"Shots fired!" McGee yelled on the com-link. "Tony?"

Tony felt the blood soak through his jacket before the pain even registered. He dropped like a stone, half-curled between the wooden manger and the hulking form of the cow. Hands shaking with adrenaline and clutching at the bullet-graze on his bicep, Tony peered over the cow's withers. He then struggled to re-grip his Sig, resting his hands on the snow-covered ridge of the ceramic animal's back, steadying his aim. He panted; the freezing air burned his lungs.

Someone was screaming over the com-link. Another was yelling orders. Yet all Tony could decipher was the red-hot agony that was stabbing through all of his senses. He had to  _react_ , but it felt like he was moving through a pool of jell-o.

He ignored the cacophony of voices going on in his ear, not having the presence of mind to simply yank it out. Vision swimming in and out of focus, Tony couldn't exactly tell where the shots had come from. But he could see Julian hurriedly dragging Lucky's struggling body towards a tangled cluster of long-dead hollyhocks. The snow was falling heavier now, the sudden deluge coming in thick, fat flakes. The spotlight meant to illuminate the nativity made everything glow a bright white, obstructing his view badly. "I can't see, damn it," he spoke to himself.

Tony calmed his panting and forced his trembling hands to be still. He needed one shot and one shot only… Or two, maybe, if at least one was a sufficiently neutralizing force. Palms clammy and wet from sweat despite the cold, and his grip tacky with his own blood, Tony let everything fall away, except for what was immediately relevant to this one task. His teeth dug deep into his lip.

Lucky was rambling incoherently over the com-link, voice slurred and feral. "Let me go. Let me go. Let me go."

Tony squeezed the trigger; the Sig bucked once - wildly - in Tony's weak grip.

The shot went wide, but at least the target flailed, clutching at his shoulder. Yet still he was ambulatory as he renewed his stubborn attempts to yank Lucky towards the cover.

"Son of a  _bitch_ ," Tony swore. He leaned heavily against the solid statue, nearly biting a hole in his own lip. With a grunt, he steadied the gun again, although now his entire body was shaking uncontrollably. It felt like the cold was now seeping deep into his core, or at least the warmth was flowing out of him, along with the blood that made his clothing stick to and pull at what had to be a nasty wound. In this condition he'd be lucky to hit the broad side of a barn - or in this case, the broad side of a cathedral - let alone a moving target.

_Pat, pat._

More gunshots. One whistled past his head. He ducked again, driving his face into the sleeve of his good arm and screaming into it out of frustration.

"I'm pinned down here," Tony called out breathlessly over the com-link. "A little help would be nice!"

He heard the report of another weapon from a different location. Return fire?

But then more of the same gunshots, this time with greater intensity.

_Pat. Pat, pat, pat._

The statue-Joseph's face exploded above him. Shards of shattered ceramic rained down on where he hid. The wooden manger splintered, pieces of wood flying. One of the Three Wisemen lost a hand, and another lost a chunk of his head. The spotlight's bulb exploded, plunging him into half-darkness. Tony rolled away as the shots continued to rain down relentlessly. He scrambled around blindly in the snow, soggy straw, and spatter of his own blood. He tripped over the baby Jesus, still swaddled in a blue cloth. The ceramic cow was soon reduced to nothing but a bullet riddled amorphous mass. "Shit, shit,  _shit_ ," Tony panted in sudden fear.

He felt warm liquid begin to gush down his neck and over his chest. Confused, Tony put a hand to his neck, where he'd felt a stinging sensation. It felt like a bullet had somehow grazed his neck. "Shit, shit," he continued to curse, terrified of this sudden realization. He staggered woozily, the blood - his blood - all over his arms, all over everything, making him sick and confused.

When a strong kick got him in the chest, Tony fell and couldn't find the drive to get back up again. A bullet pierced though his vest, exploding where it lodged in his chest. He pawed weakly at the ruined vest constricting him. Breath caught in his throat, where it gurgled in the gathering blood. Tony struggled uselessly in place, flailing and breathing noisily, until a unique feeling, like he was slowly becoming encased in great swaths of cotton balls, overwhelmed him.

He stared upwards in stunned disbelief, eyes blinking slowly. The Mother Mary sat beside the ruins of the wooden manger, untouched. Her serene face gazed down at him. He felt strangely at peace even as he slowly began to choke to death on his own blood.


	10. Chapter Nine

 

 

 

 _ **T**_ hrough the binoculars, Ellie watched their target lead Lucky across the lawn. She saw something glint in Julian's hands as they passed under a sidewalk lamp. "Tim, Arrizubeata has a knife," she spoke hurriedly. "A big knife."

"You sure?" McGee seemed hesitant to take her word at face value.

"Yes!"

McGee immediately relayed the information over the com-link. "Snoopy has a knife!"

And that was when shit got real.

Faster than either of them could react, Julian had Lucky against the wall and that big knife was imbedded in his gut. Tony was already up and out of cover, engaging the suspect in a way only Tony was impulsively brazen enough to attempt.

And then there were the gunshots.

"Shots fired!" McGee yelled. "Tony?"

But Tony was too busy swearing and readying another shot to give any sort of answer.

"Keep an eye on Tony!" McGee instructed Ellie who was ducking low in the passenger side seat.

McGee saw the muzzle flash coming from a parked boat trailer located in a driveway further up the road. He slid the window down, leaned past Ellie, and began to return fire.

The gunman seemed confused by the rapid volley of return fire. There was a brief lull before he started raining ammo down randomly on the nativity scene.

Sirens screamed nearby.

 

_**\--**--** _

 

 _ **W**_ ith the gunfire popping all around them and Julian wounded and listing to one side, Lucky began to fight with renewed fervor. The knife still hanging grotesquely out of his gut, he twisted and thrashed in the man's stubborn grip. He screamed out in distress.

"Shut up!" Julian snarled, reaching out with a blood-smeared hand to smother Lucky's face.

Lucky attempted to twist his face away, but - when he ultimately felt the cloying press of unwanted skin - he caught one of Julian's fingers between his teeth. He bit down hard enough to hear the crack of a bone. He let go only when his head was bashed again against the brick wall. Dazed - and with his teeth bloodied - Lucky watched as Julian clutched at his bitten hand and screamed. The man reeled back far enough to allow Lucky a brief opportunity to scramble away.

He stumbled to his feet and bolted around the corner and through the doors back into the cathedral. The chorus had already stopped due to the volley of gunshots outside, and upon seeing Lucky stumbling around, desperate and crazed with a bloody mouth, clothes half-torn from his body, and a knife impaled deep in his belly, people began to scream in horror.

"Call the police!" someone bellowed nearby.

"He might have a gun!" came a distant reply.

Dizzy from the sudden exertion, head trauma, and the burning from his damaged gut, Lucky sank to his haunches in the middle of the red-carpeted aisle. With his legs splayed out, he stared towards the altar without much comprehension of what was going on. Then, hitching convulsively, he began to sob.

 

\--**--

 

" _ **T**_ here's a shooter in a boat parked in the driveway northeast of my position," McGee spoke hurriedly. He squeezed off a few more shots in that direction. The gunfire from that location had slowed to nothing, but not before decimating the entire nativity scene plus DiNozzo. A squad car slid to a sloppy stop beside the boat, lights flashing.

"Snoopy is collared," somebody announced.

A barking K-9 unit was busy subduing Julian Arrizubeata, who was clutching his hand while still attempting to surrender. Lucky was nowhere to be seen, and bystanders were starting to flood out of the cathedral's front doors, screaming and yelling in terror.

"Son of a bitch," someone cried as the bloody body of undercover officer Jan Trzecki was dragged away from the boat trailer and onto the snow-covered pavement. He was dead from a gunshot to the head, more than likely from McGee's Sig Sauer. An officer held up a Beretta 92F found still clutched by a hand wearing an emerald green ring.

"I think we have Mister Q here."

 

\--**--

 

 _ **T**_ hey found Tony's ruthlessly mowed down form under the watchful gaze of the untouched Mother Mary. She was the only thing left whole, while every other statue seemed reduced to piles of shards. He looked dead, sprawled out on his back in the black blood-soaked snow, both hands pale and loosely clenching his ruined throat. His eyes were half-open, staring up at nothing but the swirling snow. It stuck to his hair and eyelashes. The only sign of life was the thick gurgle in his throat.

McGee reacted numbly, as if this was some sort of out-of-body experience. While they waited on the ambulance, he knelt beside his friend and urged him to snap out of it. Christmas was only ten minutes away. He needed to  _hold on_.

It wasn't until hours later, sitting shell-shocked in the hospital waiting room, did he realize that he'd been holding Tony's body so close that the blood had soaked through all of his clothing and to his skin. For all he knew, it could have seeped all the way to his bones. After that revelation, McGee went to the men's room and scrubbed his skin until it hurt. Or at least until Ellie came and pulled him back from the brink.

 

\--**--

 

 _ **L**_ ucky came to slowly and stared up at the ceiling tiles. He tried to count them, but his fuzzy mind couldn't make it past six. He moved a hand to scratch at an itch. He couldn't. He tried again but found that his wrist was handcuffed to the bedrail.

He attempted to fight off the overwhelming sorrow. Again, he couldn't. The tears built behind his eyes until they eventually squeezed their stubborn way past his tightly shut eyelids.

So maybe he was going to prison after all. The details were still foggy, but he was pretty sure that Agent Tony had said he wouldn't end up there.

Agent Tony.

He was dead. He had to be.

A lump grew in his throat. He looked towards his legs and realized that the knife was no longer buried in his gut. He should have felt relief, but now - knowing how he had to witness Tony get mauled by a shower of bullets - he'd rather be dead right along with him. Especially if prison was in his immediate future.

He heard the curtain of his semi-private room get moved aside. He shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

"I know you're not sleeping." It was a woman's voice, faintly familiar. "Come on."

Curiosity got the better of him and he hazarded a look. He found that he did recognize her as the woman who worked with Tony. She was young and had a lot of awkward energy. From his bed, Lucky watched her with wary brown eyes. He felt like a wounded animal, tethered in place and waiting for whatever fate would befall on him. He said nothing.

"Somebody is coming to remove those," Ellie gestured towards the handcuffs. "You'll be free."

Lucky blinked before asking with a heavy slur, "Agent Tony?"

"He'll be okay."

 


	11. Chapter Ten

 

 

 

" _ **W**_ hoa, whoa, whoa. Hey buddy. Calm down," one of the nurses attempted to pacify Tony as he thrashed on the OR table.

"Okay, okay. Got some emergence delirium going on here," the anesthesiologist admitted, while hoping the fight would eventually taper off. "I don't want to push more sedatives. I'd prefer him awake and alert."

"You think so?" another nurse shot back sarcastically. "If he freaks out for longer than this, he's going to tear his sutures for sure."

"Hey buddy," the first nurse tried again. "You're okay. You're just fine. You're in the hospital. You've just had emergency surgery. Nod if you can understand me."

Tony didn't nod, but he did calm down. Or maybe he only exhausted himself. He lay pliantly on the table, attempting to heave awkward breaths in and out despite the tube in his mouth and throat. Hazy green eyes stared at the door leading to the hallway, as if he sensed that something lay beyond that point.

The nurses remained still for a moment, enjoying the brief respite from the wild thrashing. When they started to shift him towards the gurney that would soon be PACU bound, Tony's fighting began anew.

"Damn it," the anesthesiologist swore. "I guess we used the wrong set of drugs on him." The statement was half-sarcastic and half-serious, shaking her head and studying the vital stats monitors. She then sent a nurse to go grab someone Tony knew from the gaggle of people in the waiting room. While they waited, she attempted to get through to the man. "You're not being very nice today, are you?" she joked. "We need to get that tube out of your throat. It's gotta be uncomfortable."

Tony again relaxed, still heaving, as if trying to catch his breath. But every time one of the nurses attempted to touch the tube, or any other line, or even lay a hand on him, he'd start to fight like crazy.

Chaperoned by a nurse, McGee stood by the swinging doors and looked in with worried uncertainty.

"Come on over," the doctor invited. "Just stand at his head. Say some nice things. Maybe he'll recognize you."

McGee tried his best, but to be frankly honest, Tony's state scared the shit out of him. His neck was a sutured mess, as was his chest and his left bicep. There wasn't much familiar in his drugged-out hazel-green eyes. But Tim had to try, and try he did.

"Tony," he spoke, voice cracking in raw emotion. He put his hands on the side of Tony's head and rubbed his thumbs around and around against his temples. Tony did not flinch away. The tube was an ugly thing, and the fact that it was jammed down Tony's throat gave McGee goose bumps. "Shhh," he urged. "I know you're confused, but you're safe."

Despite McGee's presence and repeated attempts to get through to him, Tony still wouldn't let anybody else come near him. The doctor shook her head. "Okay, let's get some sedative on board." A nearby nurse sprang into action.

Tony fought even while the sedative was pushed through an IV port. McGee went through a struggle of his own trying to keep his stronger emotions at bay while he watched Tony flag into a limp state of sedation. "Uh, is that normal?" McGee asked, indicating that Tony's eyes were still halfway open.

"Sometimes, not often," the doctor replied.

McGee was then banished to the corner while the team more easily removed the tube and then moved his floppy form onto a gurney. A bit like a lost child, McGee followed them to wherever they needed to go.

 

\--**--

 

" _ **T**_ ony's been having a rough time coming out of anesthesia, Boss," McGee murmured from where he'd sat firmly planted for hours upon hours. "He didn't even recognize me before, and now he's just sort of a mess."

"He'll be fine, Tim," Gibbs spoke with confidence, also keeping his voice low. "He never reacts well to that stuff. It makes him do all sorts of weird things."

"I think he's just exhausted now. Hell, I'm exhausted, and I've done nothing but sit here." McGee rubbed his hands over his greasy, sleep-deprived face. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. He then looked towards the chair-turned-lumpy-cot where Lucky had curled up and fallen asleep hours ago. He wore an extra large hoodie over his hospital gown, and both of his arms were held gently around his thickly bandaged middle.

Gibbs followed McGee's gaze. "He supposed to be here?"

"Probably not," McGee breathed out. "I mean, he had a six-inch blade stuck in his gut barely even 24 hours ago. But no one has the heart to move him, and he seems okay otherwise."

Gibbs huffed out a small laugh as his gaze turned somewhat approving. It was an odd look on Gibbs, whose expressions typically ranged from 'fairly unimpressed' to 'slightly less unimpressed.' "Tough kid," he commented. "And damn lucky."

"The DA let him off the hook, with Detective Sternes blessing, all things considered," McGee went on to say. "We put him in that situation. It wasn't a good idea."

"No. It wasn't."

"Tony thought it was a bad idea. We both did."

"You had the option to pull out," Gibbs reminded him. "It was Metro's show to begin with."

"And what about Lucky? What would have happened to him?"

Gibbs nodded, appearing somewhat proud of his agents' convictions.

On the cot, Lucky stirred in his sleep. He mumbled and shifted before settling back into silence. His breaths came long and even.

"I wish I could sleep that well right now," McGee shook his head. He looked back at Tony. He startled a bit, noticing that Tony's eyes were open - dark and hazy from the painkillers and lingering anesthesia - and staring straight ahead at him. McGee smiled automatically and leaned forward. "Hey…"

"Hey yourself," Tony slurred.

"How are you feeling?" McGee pressed. He felt more than saw Gibbs move slightly into Tony's line of vision.

"Like a cloud," Tony answered. His voice was slow and measured, and his tongue stumbled over the simplest words. "High, high, hiiiiigh above… ground."

Gibbs chimed in gruffly, "You're high alright, DiNozzo."

"Boss…" Tony tried to adjust his gaze. "Boss," he repeated. "Hi. I love you."

"Hi," Gibbs relented. "Glad you're back with us."

"How's Lucky?" Tony then asked.

"Right over there," McGee pointed. "He's been freaking out over you."

Tony blinked heavily, "Did we… miss Christmas?"

"Almost," McGee looked at his watch. "A few hours left, and maybe if we're lucky Abby'll bring…"

But Tony was suddenly in tears, hitching as the sobs came and went. McGee gripped his shoulder and squeezed in sympathy. "Shhh. Hey. C'mon, Tony. You don't want me to record this on my camera phone, do you?"

Gibbs shook his head. "I don't think he'd believe it if you told him later."

"He's been doing this off and on," McGee admitted. "He's awake and semi-coherent, and then he's crying again. It's weird."

"Yep. Better get it on the camera phone," Gibbs actually joked as he nudged McGee.

"I don't think I'm mean enough for that. I mean, look at him. He looks like he just found out that Santa doesn't exist."

"What?" Tony croaked

"Never mind," Tim said quickly. "Go back to sleep."

Tony whimpered into an uneasy sleep.

"You did a good job out there," Gibbs then said.

"Yeah, he did," McGee agreed.

"Sure he did, just like he's meant to. But I meant you, Tim," Gibbs corrected. "A really good job. You kept your head. Kept Bishop safe, too. Shot that son of a bitch dirty cop clean through the head."

"I feel like I didn't do a lot of things right," McGee admitted, staring at Tony. "I could have done more."

"Like what?" Gibbs grunted. "Predict the future? Read minds? Control what Tony decides to do? Impossible. I don't say these things very often, Tim, so why don't you just accept it."

"I'll try."

"Good." Gibbs reached out and ruffled Tony's already messy hair. "And keep an eye on this one," he requested with a strange amount of warm affection. "Fragile goods."

While McGee stared after him, Gibbs walked out of the room without another word.

 


	12. Epilogue

 

 

" _ **Y**_ ou haven't opened my present yet," Lucky prodded.

It was New Year's Eve, and Tony had just been tentatively released from the hospital. So far, he'd spent the whole day locked up in Gibbs' house, high off of vicodin, and waiting for the next time he could go to sleep. For whatever reason, Lucky still stuck around like an exceptionally stubborn burr. Either he'd grown somewhat fond of Tony, or maybe he just didn't have anywhere else to go, but the fact was, he stuck close by for nearly a week. He was like a stray cat they kept on feeding just because he chose to show up over and over again.

He seemed happy and healthy, if a little unfocused and driftless. Not exactly whole, but that would only come with time. He was looking into getting his GED, and maybe after that, who knows.

"Christmas is over with, Lucky," Tony reminded him in a dour tone. "Save it for next year, okay?"

"No," Lucky insisted. He tossed the small wrapped package into Tony's lap. "Besides, tomorrow is next year."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I want to sleep right now."

"You slept all morning, fatty. Now come on. Open it." Lucky watched with great anticipation.

Tony decided to humor him and unwrapped the package. He held it up and blinked at the Pez dispenser. "It's a Hello Kitty Pez dispenser."

"I was thinking you could put your vicodin in there. Who wouldn't want their pain relieved by a cute kitty cat?"

"You have a sick sense of humor," Tony deadpanned. But when he shook his head, he was smiling.

"I know." Lucky got up from the floor and declared, "Alright. I'm out of here."

"Where're you going today?" Tony asked.

Lucky shrugged. "Who knows, but outside there's sun, so I'm sure there's somewhere to be."

"Be careful."

"Always."

"And call me every once in a while."

"Of course."

Tony knew as he watched Lucky go that he wouldn't be seeing him again for a long while. Call it a gut feeling or a sixth sense, but Tony just knew.

And later, when Gibbs got home from work and groused about the dirty dishes piled up in the sink and the underwear and socks strewn around the carpet, Tony could only smile.

"What the Hell are you smiling about?"

Tony's answer was simple. "Wouldn't you like to know."

 

 

 

**THE END**


End file.
